The Broad Road
by Charnia
Summary: Companion piece to Gates of Life. Blair's first priority is to keep his party together and defeat the Blight, but on his way he tries to build a new life outside the constraints of the Circle. M/M, slash.
1. First Interlude

Preceded by **Gates of Life, Chapter 1: Change of Plans**

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**First Interlude: Cats Always Land on Their Feet**

Afterwards Blair wasn't quite sure why he'd sparedthe elven assassin. He had plenty of time to ponder that on the day of the ambush. The whole group with the exception of Leliana opposed the idea of taking the assassin with them. It was well known that Leliana's judgement was suspect when it came to questions of mercy. Blair pondered telling the assassin to leave the party, but it seemed to him they were safest with Zevran either under their watchful eyes or dead. He was unwilling to kill him in the first place, and to do it now would just be murder.

He supposed he had spared the man because he had asked for his life with such composure. Once before they had dealt with a band of foolhardy bandits, and at the end there was one left alive in the bloody dirt, hamstrung by Alistair's sword. The man had screamed and begged for mercy, but in spite of Leliana's look of reproach Blair had killed him with a bolt of lightning. Perhaps if that man had spoken to them as if they were civil men meeting in the course of business? The bandit had expected to die, and did, but Zevran seemed as if he expected to live–not because he was succeeding in pulling the wool over their eyes, but because it was so _reasonable_ to not kill him.

They would watch the assassin, he decided. He'd put Zevran in Sten's tent. Sten was a seasoned warrior and slept lightly, and Blair thought Zevran had to be at least nervous of the hulking Qunari warrior. Greagoir too could help watch the assassin's moves. Provided he kept Zevran away from the cook-pot, he didn't see how the assassin could be dangerous to the group.

That first day Zevran walked slightly apart from the group, but the next day began to try to speak to the others in the party. He was rebuffed by most, and eventually ended up walking beside Blair, with Greagoir wedging himself protectively between them. They spoke initially of inconsequential things–the difficulty in finding good boots, the unseasonably dry weather, and the blandness of camp food. But walking beside him Blair began to wonder if he had an additional reason for sparing the assassin that he had kept hidden from himself. The man was _hot_. Not just his appearance, although he had a lean, muscular body and handsome face, but it was the way he moved that made Blair's pulse quicken. Zevran moved with virile grace, and seemed to have an effortless awareness of his body that reminded Blair of a cat.

Zevran caught Blair looking at him out of the corner of his eye and broke off from what he was saying about the weather in Antiva compared to Ferelden to ask, raising an eyebrow quizzically, "What?"

Blair shook his head and smiled. "I was just wondering if you always land on your feet."

"I seem to have this time at least," Zevran said with a smile that made Blair's heart skip a beat.

_Assassin_, Blair reminded himself. Don't be a fool. He would betray no signs of interest. Besides being stupid to pine over the assassin, it would be futile. Blair had seen the way he watched Morrigan and Leliana, the man was definitely interested in women.

So it was surprising the following eveningwhen Blair went to tell Zevran he could have Blair's tent and Zevran suggested instead that he and Blair share the tent–and spend their time doing something other than sleeping. Blair felt a thrill of excitement, then indignation. Was the assassin trying to play him, or had he noticed Blair watching him and was mocking him? Some of his annoyance slipped out as he said, "That's a ridiculous suggestion. Not only would you be tired, but I would be as well. That's worse than the current situation." He quickly escaped to join Alistair, knowing the other Gray Warden's glowering would keep Zevran away. Had he betrayed too much? Was the assassin laughing at him behind his back? He resolved again to hide his attraction to the man. Becoming infatuated with a man who had tried to kill him a few days ago, no matter how unsuccessfully, would be pathetically stupid.

* * *

Followed by** The Broad Road, First Milestone: Transgression**


	2. First Milestone

Preceded by **The Broad Road, First Interlude**

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**First Milestone: Transgression**

The party cautiously entered the Redcliffe castle dungeon through the secret passageway Bann Teagan had revealed to them. They were on the lookout for more undead, and indeed upon leaving the room that concealed the secret passageway they found two undead humans further up the hall. Oddly, they were attempting to break into one of the cells, hacking at the bars mindlessly with their swords. Alistair and Sten led the party, and Alistair turned to look back at Blair.

Blair shrugged and gave Alistair a questioning look. "Why are you looking at me? Kill them," he said pointedly. After the battle they'd been in last night two undead were hardly worth mentioning. Greagoir had been waiting, quivering, and shot down the hall, leaping on the nearest undead and pulling it down by its arm just after Blair hit it with a Winter's Grasp. Alistair frowned at Blair but headed up the hallway wordlessly with Sten, Zevran running after them. A second later Morrigan had struck the other undead with the same spell. It reeled and started staggering down the hall towards them.

Sten and Alistair reached the undead that Greagoir had brought down and attacked it while Zevran bypassed them and ran for the second. This one was more recently dead, perhaps just killed the previous night. Like all of the walking dead, it was uncoordinated, and made even more clumsy by the chilling spell. It lifted its sword as Zevran approached.

Reaching it, Zevran dodged a swing from its sword and viciously kicked its knee, snapping ligaments. It fell to its knees, dropping the sword. Zevran circled, kicking it in the back to knock it facedown on the floor. Putting one knee in its back to hold it still, he drew his dagger and grabbed the undead by its hair. Placing his knife to the back of its neck, he began cutting its head off, sawing through the cartilage between the vertebrae. Blair watched for a second in shocked disbelief, then hit the undead with a second Winter's Grasp as it began to struggle. By the time Alistair and Sten had hacked the first undead to pieces the second also lay dead on the ground, its head thrown to the ground some feet away.

The rest of the party walked up the hallway. Blair looked at the neatly decapitated undead and thought that Zevran's dagger must have a razor edge. How was it that he could make decapitating a walking corpse look hot? Zevran was wiping the dagger on a strip of the undead's shirt, but looked up and caught Blair staring. Blair quickly looked away.

Greagoir bounded around him, then turned and started rubbing his head against one of the corpses in preparation for rolling on it. "Greagoir, no!" Blair said sharply. The mabari whined, but obeyed.

There was a hint of movement from further up the hallway and the party snapped to attention. "Blair, is that you?" someone called from inside one of the cells.

That sounded like . . . Blair hurried up the hallway to the cell and looked inside. "Jowan," he said in disgust. Jowan was clad in finer robes than he'd been wearing in the Circle, although they were filthy from his imprisonment in the dirty cell. His face was drawn and pale.

"Thank the Maker, Blair! I never thought I'd see you again, of all people! Please, can you get me out of here?" Jowan pleaded.

"Of course you're here," Blair said harshly. "If the undead are ravaging a village, the worst fuck-up in the Circle must be involved somehow."

"Who is this?" Alistair asked.

"This is my _friend_, Jowan, who is the whole reason I was expelled from the Circle and had to join the Gray Wardens."

"Blair, I didn't mean things to work out like that!" Jowan objected.

"You pissed off the Templars and then left me to take the blame. Were you trying to get me killed? Because you got pretty fucking close."

"I'm sorry, Blair!" he said dejectedly. "I didn't think. I just wanted to get away."

"Of course not! You never bothered thinking in your life. If you didn't have shit for brains maybe you wouldn't have learned blood magic, or if you did would not have gotten caught, or if you still got caught wouldn't have left your _friend_ to get slaughtered by the Templars while you escaped."

"He's a blood mage?" Alistair interrupted. "He must be behind this!"

"What, Jowan?" Blair asked incredulously. "I have no doubt he is involved somehow, but he probably fucked something up and the situation here is the result. He doesn't have any control over it." He turned to Jowan. "Is that an accurate assessment?"

"No! Well, in a way," he said in a defeated tone.

"Tell me what happened."

Jowan sighed. "After I escaped the Circle I was contacted by someone working for Teyrn Loghain. He told me that he'd found the Arlessa was searching for an apostate to tutor her son, and he wanted me to go there . . . to poison the Arl. He said he was a threat to Ferelden, and if I aided him he would help make things right with the Circle, so I could go back."

"I knew it!" Alistair said. "Where's the antidote?"

"Hold on," Blair said, holding up a hand. "More importantly, you were to tutor the Arl's son? Is he the one behind this?"

"I don't know! His magic recently began revealing itself, and the Arlessa feared he would be taken to the Tower. I tried to teach him, with the idea that he could learn to conceal his gift, but something happened after his father got sick."

"You mean after you poisoned him," Blair asked relentlessly.

"Yes! The Arlessa got suspicious when the Arl got ill and had me locked up here. She came down a few days ago demanding I tell her what I did, saying there were monsters roaming the castle. I told her I didn't know anything. She . . . she had me tortured. I couldn't tell her what she wanted so she left me here. Then the jailor stopped coming to feed me, and then those _things_ showed up. Maker's mercy, you have to let me out of here!"

"Do you know the antidote?" Blair asked.

"No. I'm sorry. I don't even know what it was I gave him. It was something the Arl's men gave me."

Zevran spoke up. "Without knowing what the poison is searching for an antidote is pointless. This mage is no use to us."

"Will you let me out?" Jowan begged. "Please, I just want to take it back. If I could somehow help the people here. . ."

"Really, I don't think they can take any more of your help," Blair said sardonically.

"Please, Blair, we were friends once. I know I don't deserve to call you that after what I did. If it ever meant anything, please help me fix this."

"He wishes to redeem himself," Leliana said. "Doesn't everyone deserve that chance?"

"No, Leliana, not when it's at my expense." Blair shrugged his pack off and opened it, finding a coil of rope and his knife. "Jowan, you're a liar. Back in the Tower I thought our friendship meant more to you than it did to me, but after you betrayed me, I think I was mistaken. You'll stay right there until I need you." He pulled out a couple yards of rope and cut it off. Standing, he coiled the rope and tossed it between the bars to the floor of the cell.

"What is that for?" Jowan asked in puzzlement.

Shouldering his pack, Blair said, "In case we don't make it back. So you can hang yourself." He headed away from the cell, the others following.

"Wait!" Jowan called, coming to the bars of the cell. "Blair, before you go, please tell me, what became of Lily? They didn't hurt her, did they? The thought that she might have paid for my crime. . ."

Blair turned in exasperation. "Oh for fuck's sake, Jowan. She trusted you and you lied to her, just like you lied to me. We were supposedly your closest friends–she was supposed to be your lover. If you'd told her the truth maybe she would have gone with you–or what do I know, you probably would have left her there just like you left me.

"She's in prison, Jowan. They locked her up and threw away the key. That's assuming she's still alive. You'll never see her again." He walked back to the cell and looked into Jowan's shocked eyes. "And in case you actually do care about her, please wait to hang yourself until I find out whether I need you. You want to atone, right? There's no atonement for the dead."

He turned on his heel and walked away, still seething. Behind him he could hear Jowan sobbing, saying in a choked voice, "Lily, I'm sorry, so sorry." He felt a moment's regret, but remembered Jowan using blood magic to stun him as well as the Greagoir and Irving before escaping. If Duncan had not intervened, Greagoir might have run him through right there. He rubbed the scar under his ribcage. He knew what that felt like.

The rest of the party seemed subdued, perhaps shocked by his treatment of Jowan. Blair couldn't bring himself to care. They continued through the castle, leaving the mangled corpses of the undead behind them.

They soon found out that their suspicions were correct, and the Arl's son was an abomination. They met him in the great hall, but he ran away into the nobles' living quarters as they killed some of this thralls. Bann Teagan was among them, but the demon's control broke before they were forced to kill him. As Blair had suspected, the Arlessa had lured Bann Teagan into the castle under false pretenses. Bann Teagan was angry, but had suspected it himself and seemed rather resigned. At the Arlessa's insistence, they brought Jowan up from the dungeon to question him about Connor's possession.

Jowan confirmed what they had expected, the easiest way to deal with the demon was to kill it and Connor. "But there is another way, according to my reading. If someone goes into the Fade they can face the demon there, and if they kill it Connor will be freed."

Blair frowned. "You could send me into the Fade?"

"Yes, but there is a . . . problem. The spell is blood magic and requires life energy to fuel it."

"Great, let me guess. Someone has to die?"

"Yes. The spell can be done without taking a life, but it would require more mages and lyrium. A lot of lyrium."

"We could go to the Tower and get help?" Leliana suggested.

Blair shook his head. "No, it would take too long. By the time we came back will have wiped out Redcliffe."

"We might make it," Alistair objected.

Morrigan sighed loudly. "Spare me the naive optimism."

Blair agreed with her, but he was trying not to fuel the antipathy between Alistair and Morrigan, so didn't respond directly. Instead he asked Alistair, "So you would have us travel to the Tower? You were trained as a Templar, how do they deal with abominations?"

Alistair's lips tightened and he said, "The Templars would say that the boy is a threat, and even if we could kill the demon without killing the boy he could easily become possessed again. They would say he must die."

The Arlessa choked back a sob. "Not my boy!"

"Unless we can find someone suitable to kill, that's our only option."

"Wait, we can't use blood magic!" Alistair objected. "That's abominable!"

"We can't kill the child, for any reason!" Leliana cried.

"Well which of you will volunteer to die, or who shall we kill?" Blair snarled.

"Let me be the sacrifice!" the Arlessa said.

The group was shocked into speechlessness. After a moment's surprise, Blair shrugged. By any just measure she was the most appropriate person to die, since her concealment of Connor's possession led to the death of most of the village. "I have no objection," he said, breaking the silence.

"You can't be serious!" Alistair said indignantly.

"It's her son, I'd say it's her decision, yes?" Blair asked sharply.

"Please hurry," the Arlessa pleaded. "I don't know how much time he has."

Alistair turned his back and walked to the other side of the room, ignoring them. Jowan looked at Blair questioningly, and when he nodded said, "I'll need the grimoires that were in my room."

"I had them confiscated," the Arlessa said. "They are in the Arl's study." Alistair and Sten went with Jowan to get the grimoires. While they were gone, Bann Teagan took the Arlessa aside and spoke quietly with her, his arm over her shoulder. He embraced her and they came back to the center of the room as Jowan returned carrying several books. He flipped briefly through one, then consulted a second. Blair joined him and read over his shoulder until Jowan walked away and began to make preparations. The principle of the spell seemed to be fairly simple, a series of glyphs cast to amplify the caster's power. Jowan encircled the Arlessa with the glyphs, and placed Blair on the opposite side of the circle.

He could feel his heartbeat picking up and his palms sweating. It was a simple thing to say that this was the best route, but actually going through with it was more nerve wracking. The Arlessa knelt, praying, in the circle as Jowan made the final preparations. Blair clenched his fists, nails digging into his hands, and forced himself to concentrate as Jowan prepared to cast the spell. When he actually did, Blair saw the Arlessa lifted up into the air by the magic and heard her scream, and the world shattered around him as he was thrown into the Fade.

Blair walked purposefully through the Fade, the indistinct landscape rippling around him. Since entering the demon's realm he'd been going in circles, constantly running into lesser demons that attempted to distract him or turn him back from his goal. He knew he had finally reached his destination when the path he followed led into a large open space. The demon was standing in the center, watching him advance. He walked to within about a dozen paces and stopped.

"Very well, no more illusions. We meet face to face," she said languidly, her voice soothing–but behind it Blair could hear the echoes of the demon's true voice. "You have reached the center of my domain, where I am most comfortable. Yet I have no desire to engage your power, nor should you be hasty to engage mine. Perhaps we should converse instead?"

"What do you propose?" Blair asked cautiously.

"What is it you desire? I assume you have come here for the boy. I do not wish to give him up. But I am prepared to offer any number of other things. Knowledge, power, the admiration of your fellows, pleasure. . ." She slowly stroked her hand over her breast and down her taut abdomen.

Blair smiled mockingly. "You're barking up the wrong tree."

The demon paused and then laughed. "I can offer you whatever form you desire," she–it–said, and its voice deepened as it grew taller and its face changed. When it was still again it had become a beautiful young man clad only in a loincloth. Yet there was still something subtly wrong about it–besides the purple skin and horns, of course. Its torso was too long, the muscles not quite placed right. "I am most comfortable in this form, but if there is some other you would prefer. . ." Once again the demon changed, becoming more human in appearance until it was Alistair who stood in front of him. The demon-Alistair frowned slightly at his expression. "Perhaps not? Well, then, he?" The demon changed again, growing shorter and slighter, and now it was Zevran.

Blair felt uncomfortable when the demon stole Alistair's shape so readily, but when it became Zevran it seemed even more wrong. The idea of having sex with it while it wore the body of one of his companions turned his stomach. "Do not take their shapes!" he snarled, stepping forward. The demon abruptly shifted and returned to its incubus form.

"And I thought things were going so well," it purred. "What troubles you? I know you desire him. I could let you do whatever you like with that body."

Blair suppressed his anger. "You offer nothing I could not have if I were to ask."

"You desire, and you could take, yet you have not had. You mortals are so curious. Then if it is not physical pleasure you seek, what else can I offer you?"

Blair hesitated. He should kill the demon and be done with it . . . but was there any harm in finding out what it could offer? "You mentioned power?"

"Ahh, yes, you do desire that." The demon threw its head back, eyes closed, and ran its hands over its body sensuously. It opened its eyes and gazed at him. "I can teach you the use of blood magic. You will be able to convert life force to magic, strike your enemies helpless as you boil their blood in their veins, and eventually even control their minds. I will do this for you. In exchange, you will leave the boy in my hands. I will go away, I will appear as if dead, and some day long after you've moved on I will return for him."

"No, you will teach me blood magic and forfeit your claim on the boy," Blair demanded.

The demon seemed to grow an inch or two and its eyes snapped with anger. "You ask much, yet give little. Why should I agree to such a one-sided deal?"

"Alternatively, I could kill you."

"You could try, mortal," it sneered. "But even if you succeeded, it would gain you nothing. I know what you desire. Let matters take their course, proceed as they were before your interference, and you can have what you want. I will go, for a time. You will have the boy, and you will have the secret of blood magic. This may be your only opportunity to discover this secret. Others have sought their entire lives to find a demon willing to teach them."

The demon walked slowly towards him and seemed to shrink as it approached, until it was a few inches shorter than he. It stopped a cautious distance away and said, "I can sense that you have been caged. You are a powerful mage, yet have been unable to break free. You escaped once, but only by trading your old cage for a new prison. And you are an elf, physically weaker than many men, and part of a despised race. Take my offer, take this power."

Blair felt as if he were in the grip of some spell, yet could tell that the demon used no magic. The compulsion he felt was the work of his own mind. He was here to get the Arl's aid, nothing more. He could simply stand by. After all, he had already shown far more consideration for the boy than the Templars would have. He had spared his life.

Alone in the Fade, he could deal with the demon however he liked.

But his conscience revolted at the idea of handing the boy over to be possessed. He was confident that he could kill this demon, as he had killed others in the Tower. Connor could be freed–at least until he was hauled off to the Tower, later to be thrown to another such demon in the Harrowing.

It was still possible the Templars would kill the boy, or he would fail his Harrowing. He could be throwing away an opportunity for great gain for nothing.

Finally he remember Jowan, a barely competent mage, incapacitating both Greagoir and Irving before escaping the Tower entirely. If he had that power, they could never take him back. He choked out, "Yes, I'll take it."

The demon laughed, a silvery peal underlaid by a sound like grinding stones. "An excellent choice. I will reach your mind, and teach you my secrets." The demon did not move, but he felt a whispering touch in his thoughts, and then a rush of knowledge. He staggered back a few steps, shuddering, feeling as if he'd lain with a corpse, kissed its mouth crawling with maggots. "I will leave, for a time. Now be gone, mortal." The Fade shivered around him and broke, and he found himself awake on the flagstones of the Arl's castle. Blood still smeared the flagstones before him, and he fought back a wave of nausea at what he had done. He slowly sat up and looked around at the people surrounding him.

"It is done," he lied.

Blair managed to get through the rest of the day while hardly paying attention to what was going on. The remaining residents of the castle scraped together a dinner, but Blair excused himself with the excuse that the trip to the Fade had been draining. With the village decimated and castle inhabitants almost wiped out, rooms were plentiful, and each of the party was able to stay in their own room. Blair went to his room and threw himself down on the bed, covering his face with his hands. Greagoir padded over and stuck his wet nose in Blair's ear, only to be shoved away.

Blair couldn't get the image of Isolde dying in the grip of the blood magic out of his head. If anyone had asked him before he would have said he'd never make a deal with a demon, let along one with such a price. He had killed the Arlessa as surely as if he'd stabbed her himself, and traded her lifeblood and her son's soul. And for what? Demon magic, the potential for power? Was it truly worth that much? If he could travel back to the Fade and take back the bargain now, he would.

He groaned and slammed his fist into the mattress. It was easy to make a resolution like that when it was entirely out of his power to go through with it. At the start of this day he would not have believed it if someone had told him he would trade the lives of two people for blood magic. If he knew himself so poorly that he could not foresee that decision, perhaps he was deceiving himself in thinking he would reverse it if he could.

He felt tears prickling at his eyelids and bit his lower lip hard. He made the deal, he couldn't take it back. He wouldn't allow himself the luxury of crying over it, as if that could change anything.

He remembered Jowan, locked up in the dungeon below, weeping over Lily after his cruel parting comment. He'd let his temper get the best of him. Jowan had been his friend in the Tower, chiefly due to the fact that he stuck to Blair like a tick. The mages might be despised by the outer world, but instead of uniting the Circle tended to fracture into various political groups and cliques. There were few elves in the Circle, and the human apprentices excluded Blair. Jowan too was excluded, but because he was slow to learn magic. He had fallen in with Blair years ago, because there was no one else to talk to and because Blair would help him with his magic lessons. Blair had always had a vaguely guilty feeling that Jowan cared more for him than he did for Jowan–but then Jowan used blood magic to escape the Tower and left Blair and Lily in Greagoir's hands. Perhaps if Blair had truly been Jowan's friend he would have been able to foresee that, but he had not.

Or maybe it was something that no one could have foreseen, even Jowan himself, and he had made the same type of mistake Blair had only hours before. If the world was just, Blair would be imprisoned in the dungeon with him. But because he managed to conceal his crime, he went free. Jowan, on the other hand, was suffering not for what Blair considered to be his true crime, betraying his friends, but for escaping the Tower and choosing the wrong side in a brewing civil war. Bann Teagan would keep him locked up until the Arl either recovered or died, and then he would either be executed or turned over to the Circle for the Templars to kill. And Blair did not think he deserved to die.

With most of the inhabitants of the castle dead it was likely Jowan was left unguarded. If he could find the key and sneak down there he could let Jowan out. Jowan might still get caught, but at least he'd have a chance. But where could he find the key? He could hardly go searching for it. It could be anywhere in the castle, and probably was in Bann Teagan's hands since most of the guard was dead.

If he had company who knew how to pick locks, he wouldn't need the key. Leliana could do it easily, but would she go along with breaking a blood mage out of prison? She had favored letting him out earlier, but perhaps she had changed her mind since Bann Teagan ordered him locked up again and he had worked lethal blood magic in front of her. No, it would be a bad idea to trust Leliana. But maybe Zevran?

He barely knew the assassin, but it seemed unlikely that he would have any ethical qualms about breaking a blood mage out of prison. He hadn't seemed to care about Jowan beyond whether he was useful or not, and during the ritual preparations displayed nothing more than curiosity. But would he talk? Blair doubted it. He could hardly talk about how Blair broke the blood mage out of prison without incriminating himself. And it appeared the others in the group had little use for him. If he truly needed protection from the Crows it was in his best interests to keep Blair happy. The more pressing question was whether Blair could trust him enough to be alone with him.

It was only then that Blair realized he was seriously going to help his old friend escape from the dungeons. He supposed it was less than he had done for Jowan before. He had not intended to put his life in danger when he helped Jowan destroy his phylactery, but that is what it came to. With most of the guards dead helping him escape might just be a matter of walking downstairs and opening his cell door. Still, as the hour grew later the prospect managed to distract him from his guilt over the deal with the demon.

He tried to do some reading in one of the grimoires that he'd brought along, but found himself re-reading the same paragraph three times and still having no idea what it said. Finally he closed the book with a sigh and sat on the floor to rub Greagoir's belly. The mabari panted happily and thumped his tail on the floor. After a few minutes Blair stood and started pulling out things from his pack. If he was going to let Jowan out of the dungeons he couldn't send him out with just the clothes on his back.

When it was finally approaching midnight Blair crept quietly out of his room in sock feet, carrying a canvas bag. Greagoir followed along after him, his nails clicking on the stone floor. Blair slipped down the hall in the darkness to Zevran's room and knocked softly on the door. He had to knock twice before he heard Zevran answer, "Yes?"

"It's me, Blair," he said, trying to keep his voice low.

A moment later the door opened, and golden lamplight spilled into the hall. Zevran leaned against the doorframe–stark naked. Blair already knew he was lean and muscular, but he hadn't known about the tattoos. Swirling lines wrapped around Zevran's torso from his back, curving across his ribcage and sweeping down his abdomen. Blair couldn't stop his eyes from reflexively flicking downwards before he snapped his attention back to Zevran's face. He was smirking. Blair could feel the blood rush to his face–and lower down. Bastard, he thought. Blair wasn't a modest person, since privacy was a luxury not afforded to apprentices growing up in the Tower, but he had been caught off guard. His momentary arousal faded, to be replaced by a spark of anger.

"This is an unexpected pleasure. So you decided to take me up on my offer?" Zevran said, looking Blair over suggestively.

He still had a hint of a teasing smile, and Blair couldn't tell whether he was serious or not. "Business," he said curtly, to angry to be embarrassed.

Zevran sighed, but his smile grew wider. "So, my other skills are in demand. You want someone assassinated? No? That is my area of expertise. You need me to steal something?" He smiled, "Ahh, you need me to steal some_one_."

"Do you mind?" Blair asked, looking pointedly past Zevran into the room.

Zevran opened the door wider and said, "Come in, Gray Warden."

Blair frowned at the appellation, but stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Greagoir moved in front of him to stand between him and Zevran, clearly not trusting the assassin.

"I assume you want to help your friend escape tonight," Zevran asked.

Blair didn't bother disputing the "friend" label. "Yes. The quicker the better." Blair resolutely kept his eyes fixed on Zevran's face. The assassin shrugged and started getting dressed. Blair turned away, certain Zevran intended to try to catch him staring.

A moment later Zevran said quietly, "You really should not turn your back on an assassin."

Blair hastily turned, but Zevran was just standing across the room, now dressed, with his arms crossed. "I'm safe enough. All Greagoir has to do is slow you down a fraction of a second," Blair said, touching the ruff of fur on Greagoir's neck. He was staring at Zevran, hackles raised.

The assassin smiled and shrugged. "Perhaps." He nodded to the scabbard hanging on a chair near the bed. "May I?"

"We shouldn't need weapons," Blair objected.

"Yes, we shouldn't, but I think if we are found the guards might object to us helping the blood mage escape."

Blair paused, thinking. Was he prepared to kill someone to rescue Jowan? Or was he prepared to allow himself to be locked up in the dungeons if they were caught? The answer was, of course, no. He nodded, and Zevran picked up the scabbard and belted it on. He then went to his pack and rifled through it, standing up holding a leather tool case. "We should meet no more than one or two guards. I think I can dispense with the armor, providing you're willing to fight if it comes to it?"

Blair scowled. "Yes. Are you ready?"

"Unfortunately I have no dark lantern. I hope you can use magic to make light?"

Blair concentrated and a small globe of arcane magic appeared in front of him, then winked out. Zevran smiled and headed for the door. Blair followed him out, closing the door behind him, and they headed down to the dungeon. Blair let Zevran go first, both so he could scout their path and to keep an eye on him. While he was almost sure that Zevran did not intend to kill him, that would be a momentous thing to be mistaken about.

As Blair had expected, the halls were deserted. They made their way by moonlight, when possible, and Blair called up magic light when there were no windows nearby. Greagoir seemed to understand the need for stealth and moved surprisingly silently, the only sound the clack of his claws on the floor. They sneaked down the stairs and reached Jowan's cell without having seen another person. Jowan lay on the floor of the cell asleep.

At the cell Zevran pulled out the lockpick kit, but Blair stopped him with an outstretched hand. "Jowan," he said in a low, urgent voice. He had to repeat himself a couple times before Jowan sat up.

"Blair? Why are you here?" he asked. In the cold blue light of the magic globe Jowan looked pale as a corpse. His eyes were puffy, and Blair again felt a twinge of guilt.

"I have a couple of questions. How did you get blood magic?"

Jowan blinked at him. "This is a strange time to ask that," he said in confusion. Then his eyes widened in apparent realization and he said, "I don't know how to teach it to you, and really . . . you should stay away from it, Blair."

"I'm not asking you to teach it to me," Blair said in exasperation. "I just want to know how you learned it, and why you couldn't use it to escape when they arrested you."

"Well, there were rumors in the Tower that there were blood mages there. I was approached by one, he said he would teach me. Graem, you know?"

Blair nodded. Unsurprisingly, Graem was a Libertarian. Before Blair would have said he was an almost fanatical Libertarian, but now that was a foregone conclusion.

"He gave me lyrium and we did a ritual, and afterwards I knew how to use it. It was amazing, I'd never before felt powerful. But then after I escaped from the Tower, it was just gone. I can still use blood magic, but only casting normal spells with my lifeforce. I couldn't do what I did in the Tower when I got away from Irving and Greagoir . . . and knocked you out," Jowan said apologetically.

"Probably just as well since I'd bet a demon was feeding you that power," Blair said. "After we left the blood mages tried to take over the Circle, killed most of the mages, and turned many others into abominations. If you'd stayed they would have possessed you too. Greagoir nearly had the Circle annulled."

Jowan looked shocked. Clearly he hadn't heard about the catastrophe in the Tower. "What happened?"

"I killed them instead," Blair said. He turned to Zevran and said, "Go ahead."

Zevran stepped forward and started working on the lock. Jowan scrambled to his feet and asked with alarm, "What are you doing?"

"Breaking you out," Blair said.

"Blair, I deserve to be here!"

"If you stay there, they'll kill you. If I thought you deserved to die, I would have killed you already."

"Blair, I'm tired of running. I want to face up to what I did."

The lock clanked as it sprang open, and Zevran swung the cell door wide. "Like I said, Jowan, there's no atonement for dead men," Blair said.

For a moment Blair thought Jowan was going to refuse to leave, but finally he hesitantly walked out of the cell. Blair handed him the bag he'd brought. "There's some food and money in here. In the end room down that hall there's a trapdoor that leads to a passageway coming out in the windmill. You're on your own."

"Blair . . . thank you. You were always a good friend."

"I'm not your friend. I'm doing this. . ." he trailed off. He could hardly say "because I should be locked up instead of you". "Because you don't deserve it. Goodbye. And . . . don't fuck it up."

He turned and walked back up the hallway without another word, leaving Zevran and Greagoir to follow. Upon reaching the ground floor he remembered to be cautious, and let Zevran take the lead again. This time they did run across someone else, a guard whose lamplight warned them of his approach. They cut down a side hall and waited until he had passed, then continued on their way.

At the door to Zevran's room the assassin paused and said in a low voice, "Now that our business is concluded, would you like to come in for a drink?"

Blair almost laughed. "All you have is well water, just like the rest of us!"

The handsome elf shrugged and said with a sly smile, "Come for the well water, stay for the company?"

"Good night!" Sill smiling, Blair continued up the hall to his room and went inside with Greagoir, barring the door behind him. His lantern had burned low while he was gone. He turned up the wick and stripped by the guttering light, finally blowing out the lamp and climbing into bed naked. He knew Zevran too was naked in his bed down the hall, and remembered the tattoos that swept across his torso and led the eyes down lower. . . He growled in his throat, causing Greagoir to perk his ears. He'd been set up, and fell for it. His gawking could leave no question in Zevran's mind over whether or not he was attracted to the assassin, and that was a foolish slipup. While that memory could fuel his fantasies for many nights, it was safer not to entertain those ideas. He firmly placed the thought of Zevran's naked body, and what Zevran might think of him, out of his mind.

Once he thought about Jowan again it wasn't hard to get his mind off of its erotic track. He had no idea whether Jowan would manage to make it out of Redcliffe without being captured–and now realized that he hadn't thought about what Jowan might say if he did get caught. Things could get very awkward if he claimed Blair had helped him escape. Of course, Blair could deny it. When it came down to the word of a traitorous blood mage or a Gray Warden, who would they believe? No, he had little to worry about from that direction.

Blair was exhausted, but anticipated having difficulty falling asleep due to the events of the day. However, freeing Jowan seemed to have relieved his anxiety. Lulled by Greagoir's steady breathing, he slipped away into a dreamless sleep, unperturbed by any unconscious return to the Fade.

* * *

Followed by **Gates of Life, Chapter 2: Ambition**


	3. Second Interlude

Preceded by **Gates of Life, Chapter 2: Ambition**

* * *

**Second Interlude: An Evening at the Opera**

After their trip to Redcliffe Blair found himself spending more and more time with Zevran as they traveled towards Denerim. The elven assassin had continued periodically making passes at him, and Blair still could not tell if he was being serious or just playing. He knew now that Zevran wasn't mocking him, since his attitude otherwise was respectful. The flirtation rattled him, but Blair found himself seeking Zevran's company.

He felt as if the others would somehow know if he spent too much time with them that he had betrayed Isolde's trust, and her blood was on his hands. He did not know what Zevran's opinion of his deal with the demon would be, but he knew what the others would think. They would want him dead.

So Blair walked with Zevran, and they spoke of many different topics. Blair's whole life had been education, in the sense of studying books at least. Apprentices learned magic in the Tower, but they also learned history, economics, mathematics, music, biology, botany, medicine, literature, and whatever other topics caught the fancy of the mages who taught them. The Tower was full of mages who would be equally disappointed if you failed to cast a glyph of warding, solve a differential equation, or write an essay analyzing the economic impact of the Orlesian empire upon the Fereldan copper-mining industry. Now actually out in the world Blair felt that he knew very much, but most of it was useful for very little.

He found that Zevran knew much less than he did on many topics, but what he did know was highly practical. The elven assassin was clearly intelligent, but his education had been limited to what was useful to the Crows. He could speak and write several different languages, and seemed to know much about the politics and economics of Antiva, Ferelden, and Orlais. But he knew little of anything but the most recent history. He could name many of the plants they came across, but only those that had medicinal use–or were poisonous. When it came to the arts he was totally ignorant. "Plays, music–that's what they teach the human women among the Crows," he said when Blair asked if he'd every been to the theatre in Antiva City. "A mark may take a human out in society, but an elf is fit for more limited use. Although. . ." He broke off, thinking, and a moment later whistled a snatch of a tune.

"That's the overture for Garahel and Adelina," Blair said in surprise.

"Yes, I heard that in the opera house in Antiva City. Just the beginning, though. A mark took me there. It was quite aggravating–I'd been with him the entire afternoon and never had a chance to kill him because his friend was with us as well. Then that evening he decided to take me to the opera, alone. I had planned to kill him quickly and escape, but then the curtains came up and they started playing. . ." Zevran shook his head. "It was beautiful. No, more than that. Powerful, overwhelming."

Zevran frowned. "Not that I got to listen to much of it, because they had hardly started playing before he had me on my knees providing other entertainment. I'd wondered why he brought me there. It seems he enjoyed the risk of discovery. After spending the entire afternoon in such activities I was out of patience, and before they finished the overture I'd stolen the poniard from his boot and stuck it in his heart.

"I wanted to stay longer, but was afraid I'd be caught, so I left his body in the box and never heard the rest of the opera," he said, sounding a little wistful.

Blair was speechless. He finally stammered, "I've, uh, never been to the opera."

Zevran glanced at him. "I suppose not, if you were locked up in that Tower your entire life. Perhaps some day we will go together. I should like to hear more."

Blair was familiar with some of Garahel and Adelina from performances by the chamber orchestra in the Tower. He tried his best to remember the overture and some other fragments of the opera, and hummed them for Zevran. Soon he had exhausted these and moved on to unrelated pieces. He whistled one tune and then said, "Of course it's nothing like that. You have the cellos doing something completely different in the background at the same time, kind of meandering around." He hummed a rendition. "And there's a second, complementary violin part interwoven. You really have to hear it." He looked at Zevran only to see him staring at him with a strange, intent look. He looked away, uncomfortable. "What?"

"Nothing!" Zevran said, shaking his head and laughing. Blair looked down at the road self-consciously. The conversation died out, but Blair noticed Zevran didn't stop smiling for quite a while. He felt foolish at first, but decided eventually that it wasn't so bad to make Zevran smile, even if it was in amusement at his childish enthusiasm.

* * *

Followed by **Gates of Life, Chapter 3: Blood Magic**


	4. Third Interlude

Preceded by **Gates of Life, Chapter 5: Dragonslayers**

* * *

**Third Interlude: Dragon-Sparked Fire**

Blair went into the battle with the dragon without thinking about it very much, as if it were any other fight, and only realized afterward that was because he thought that they were going to die. In spite of his earlier calm, from the moment Blair stepped onto the plateau he had a feeling of impending doom that had only begun to relent towards the end of the battle, when he realized the dragon was tiring.

Blair usually liked watching Zevran fight, since he took such fierce joy in it, and moved with such agility and grace. But this time Blair was unable to take any pleasure in the battle, expecting that any minute someone would die. There were two close calls, once when the dragon seized Sten and lifted him off the ground, and the second when a slap of its tail had thrown Zevran through the air. Almost before he hit the ground Blair was running his direction. Standing over Zevran's motionless body, Blair cast a healing spell, hoping he was only knocked out and not badly hurt. The spell took effect, and a few seconds later Zevran's eyes opened. He scrambled to his feet and ran back into battle.

Blair had just cast a cone of cold at the dragon for what seemed the twentieth time when Zevran suddenly climbed the dragon's leg and leaped onto its back. As he climbed the dragon's wildly lashing neck Blair watched with his heart in his mouth, unable to help for fear of hitting Zevran with his spells. Zevran raised his daggers, gleaming in the sunlight, and stabbed downward. Unbelievably, the blades pierced the dragon's skull and plunged into its brain, dropping the dragon instantly. As it fell Zevran leaped clear, rolling as he hit the ground and then jumping to his feet.

Blair and Morrigan ran up to the dragon, and Blair examined the daggers, buried to the hilt, as Sten began hacking off its head. Blair looked up at Zevran, who was still catching his breath. Zevran was bruised, sweaty, and smeared with dragon blood, but his face was glowing with triumph and exhilaration. Almost without realizing what he was doing, Blair stepped forward and kissed him.

As soon as their lips touched Blair realized he had made a grave mistake. At first Zevran didn't return the kiss, but when Blair stepped away, regretting his rashness, Zevran pulled him back into a second kiss.

Blair had kissed people before, but this was different. His previous kisses had been in more intimate settings–hiding in the library stacks, under a stairwell, behind a desk, or in a closet, half-dressed at best, hands roaming over bare skin. But though they stood on a rocky plain and Zevran's leather armor pressed unyieldingly against him, that kiss was more intoxicating than any he'd known. He was acutely aware of Zevran's hand on the back of his neck and his other arm wrapped around his waist, the taste of sweat on Zevran's lips and the feeling of his tongue against Blair's. All other sensation faded away, even the metallic stench of the dragon's blood and the reek of sulfur.

It was the very intensity of the kiss that caused him to break away. He'd never lost his senses like that over anyone, and he knew very well that Zevran did not feel the same. He couldn't afford to make a fool of himself over Zevran, both for the sake of his own happiness and for the sake of their mission. He knew Wynne and Alistair disapproved of his friendship with Zevran, what if they thought they were lovers?

Fortunately he hadn't brought Wynne to the battle, because he was sure she would have emanating palpable waves of disapproval. He could only hope that Morrigan would not decide to tell the others about the kiss. It was just a question of which won out, her enjoyment in causing disruption or her disinterest in speaking to the others in the party. Sten he knew would not tell the others, since he would merely be confused about why two men might kiss, and Sten did not like to talk about topics that confused him.

Zevran gave Blair a questioning look as he turned away, and he looked down at the ground, unable to meet his eyes. As they headed down the mountain to Haven, any elation he might have felt at winning the battle with the dragon withered, replaced by a strange mixture of shame and trepidation.

* * *

Followed by **Gates of Life, Chapter 6: Celebration**


End file.
